about a boy His eyes become moons, each needly red vein a remnant of nebula falling through his starkissed eyelashes. He is the universe and he's exploding one step at a time. Your rocketship fingernails notice the comets casting from his form. On occasion, his voice eclipses vision with a halo of sunfire. Dust-trails kiss at his heels as he stands on the window ledge, too deviant and frightened to scurry back from the edge.about a boy
His hands - dodecagons - grasp at concepts beyond the realm of human possibility. Niles of galaxy flood through his nervous system. Little beads of planets scat
The Moonman Solstice The moon was breaking with the dawn, the yellowing fragments falling from the sky in tiny dimensional shards, making pock marks in the surface of the emerald creek behind the elementary school. The space-dust was thin and elusive like talcum powder. Wet and dry, soft and hard. The wasted satellite slipped through the crevices of fingers, soft threads of gold in the night-mystery, a celestial haze filling the lungs of lovers and children, of men and women, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives. They paraded up the streets, awaking from their nests, covered in twigs and Egyptian cotton, thirsty for shadowsThe Moonman Solstice
Peacock LashesIt was a humid and thick but tolerable July midnight. I could taste the atmosphere on my lips, like hard candy and neon pigment, like the fireworks dancing across the sky, like the laughter on my lips. I could feel the gravity anchoring me down from the strong wind, taking with it my morals. In that moment I wasn't holding on to the handlebars, my thin grip released. I felt so electric and mint and familiar and toxic like the city lights I danced in, the moon controlling my body like the tides of the Pacific ocean that had captured my heart though it was unlikely we'd ever meet again. It had been 37 hours since I'd slept, my breathing not quiPeacock Lashes
This is who I really am. Do you remember that night, when everything was perfect? The black night sky dotted with sparkling globes millions of light years away, the soles of our grungy shoes the controllers of our beings. Our breath, frozen in the oxygen like mint glitter under the yellow haze of the streetlights. The crescendo of a repeated E-F#-A traveled in a flurry through the October stratosphere. Gravity toyed with the emerald lightning snaking through the fog. How could you forget?This is who I really am.
Into December the Friday nights turned, the 6th date of Advent the most memorable. The shadows o
Geeks in LoveThis is not a love poem. Okay? This is a poem for a friend, and yeah it's a good friend but don't look at me like I'm thinking of youGeeks in Love
when I say, that every time I hug you I feel like I have rolled a natural 20; a thing so rare as to not be expected at all
I completely don't mean that when I think of kissing you, I gain +1/+1, and that my mana pool is completely tapped; you're just a friend, and
when I think of a man who would teach me to love in the backroom of the Enterprise (even though I don't have green skin) it isn't you there with m
| they're going to tie me in a bow. |
farewell tall trees.
Love
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-there's a wocket in my pocket-
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Mystic referee don't, look on me with scorn - I'm a child, I'm a lover being born.
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Mystic referee don't, look on me with scorn - I'm a child, I'm a lover being born.
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